1. Rakim Godfrey #2
Though we weren’t the most emotional and definitely didn’t do hugs, kisses, or anything of that fucking nature, I couldn’t lie and say the shit didn’t feel good than a muthafucka to see my people again.
Not only was I just happy to see them niggas, I was happy to be out and look out for their asses. LaMia wasn’t the only one I was worried about while behind bars.
Hugging Josias and Zaire partially reminded me of the betrayal I’d become privy to only weeks ago, and somehow, a nigga was just as pissed about it as I was when I heard Ayan’s voice in LaMia’s background. I had to chill though, bask in the fucking moment of my freedom.
“Damn, muthafucka, you need a haircut.” Josias frowned in disapproval as he eyed my grown out, kinky locks.
I refused to get my shit cut on the inside, but the barber would be one of my first fucking stops for sure. I couldn’t wait to clean my head and face up.
“Bet I could still pull,” I jested, following behind my brothers.
Truthfully, the last thing on my mind was pulling anything. All desire I’d had to deep dive into some pussy had been drained from me the moment I made that phone call to my now ex.
For years I’d been celibate, dreaming of the fucking day I could slide back up in my girl, and now that whole dream had become like a tire with a slow leak over the past weeks.
“Exactly, big bruh. Hating ass Jojo.” Zaire shook his head, hitting a button on the key fob to unlock the doors.
“Front seat for you since it’s for an occasion.” Josias gestured toward the front of the vehicle before returning to the back.
“’Preciate that.” I surveyed the weird ass car before climbing in and settling into the plush seats.
For a moment, I shut my eyes, basking in the feeling of something so luxe against my damn skin. Prison was a place I never wanted to return to and made the stint a nigga had spent in jail during my trial seem like a fucking hotel.
The shit I’d experienced and saw would keep me up at night for the next few years and even after that; it would be ingrained in my damn head.
The fights, the thievery, the murders, niggas being turned into bitches, and worst of all, being confined, put away from normal society.
I felt off being free. Not having a muthafucka tell me when I could take a piss or eat would take some getting used to, just like being bossed around did.
Three years of never being able to fully go to sleep, doing my fucking best not to let a nigga attempting to test me actually succeed, and always having to look over my shoulder, had stressed my ass beyond belief.
As I pulled down the visor mirror to get a good look at my overgrown beard and hair, I could see that I’d aged far beyond the three and some change years, from the lack of sleep and constant distress. A nigga didn’t feel nor look twenty-eight years old in my opinion.
The last year being inside had been the easiest for me, since by that time, I had proven myself, and niggas didn’t want any parts.
A seasoned prisoner by that time, my days had shifted from ones of survival to a waiting game.
I remained low-key as fuck and to myself, only conversing with Joe, and even that, I kept to a minimum.
It was a stark difference from when a nigga first got processed where muthafuckas recognized me as the heavyweight boxing champion that I was and wanted to prove their bravado by starting a fight with me.
I now sported a jagged scar under my eye as proof from when a hating ass nigga tried to blind me for warming his fucking head until he was snoozing on the yard.
I could hear my mama now, talking shit about how they ruined my handsome face.
Nevertheless, after putting a few of them niggas to sleep with my fists and being thrown in the miserable ass hole for it, I had no more fucking issues.
“How you feel, bruh?” Zaire questioned as he hopped onto the freeway.
“Shit . . . free.” I tried to find some better language but could only speak the truth.
As I took in my favorite city—Los Angeles—I noticed my brothers giving each other looks through the rearview mirror.
For a minute, I tried to pick up on what they were discussing without asking but eventually said fuck it.
One brother had already fucked me over, and though I wasn’t as surprised by Ayan’s actions, I truthfully couldn’t put shit past anyone at this point.
“Y’all got some shit y’all wanna get off ya chest?” I eventually queried, propping my elbow up on the center console and toying with my beard as I scoured the city with my eyes.
Zaire cleared his throat. “Look, I want you to know Jojo and I ain’t have shit to do with what I’m about to tell you.”
“Is it about Ayan and LaMia?” I finally gave Zaire brief eye contact, chuckling a bit at the way my little brother’s mouth fell open.
“How you find out?” Josias quizzed from the back seat.
“Over the phone. Hit her up and she told me she couldn’t fuck with a nigga no more,” I replied, not wanting to relive the way I was feeling in the moment. As big, bad, and emotionless as I tried to be, I couldn’t lie and say that shit didn’t hurt.
It would’ve fucked me up regardless, but shit seemed to multiply in pain when you was locked up. For a while, getting back to LaMia was the only thing that kept me from killing a few muthafuckas on the inside. Losing that made a nigga feel like the ground had fell in from beneath me.
“Fuck.” Zaire shook his head, toggling between the road and me. “We was suspicious when they would be together all the time, then finally when Jojo pressed Yan about it, he admitted it. Pops told us not to tell you while you was inside.”
“Aight, so how you gon’ get ya bitch back?” Josias inquired, causing me to chuckle some, caught off guard by his question.
“I’m not,” I answered honestly.
For a split second after LaMia hung up, I thought about getting out and convincing her to come back to where she belonged, but that thought vanished as quickly as the shit came.
I was big on loyalty and stingy with pussy that belonged to me or was supposed to.
By saying that, I was done with both LaMia and Ayan, but the latter wouldn’t be able to escape a much-needed ass whupping.
“So you gon’ let that nigga run off into the sunset?” Zaire frowned. “At least get her back, smash, and then dump her bop ass!”
As Josias cosigned his twin, I shook my head with a smirk.
“I’m good off that. He can keep her, and most definitely, he can keep the pussy.”
“Man, you just got out. You telling me you don’t need none?” Josias sucked his teeth.
“I do, but that ain’t gon’ be no problem, Jojo. I can find that shit anywhere. It ain’t gotta be from her.”
“I still say you hit that shit one mo’ ’gain and then just start punching her ass in the back of the head during doggy,” Josias stated, sending the whole car into a fit of laughter.
“Nigga stupid.” I snickered, still in deep thought.
I directed my brothers to stop so I could grab something quick to eat before I was dropped off at home. Upon first sight, it was clear that LaMia hadn’t been there in a while, and I didn’t wanna think about how many nights she got off the phone with a nigga to lay up with Ayan.